


Burdened With Inglorious Existence

by SkywardGeek



Series: The Trials and Tribulations of one Anthony Edward Stark [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Illnesses, M/M, Sickfic, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkywardGeek/pseuds/SkywardGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony would not be ill. He refused to be. It only interferes. Being ill once was enough but Stark had been forced to suffer through it. He did not want to repeat the experience. Luckily Steve makes sure this experience is a little different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burdened With Inglorious Existence

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably get edited eventually :)

Downing a coffee and burning his tongue in the process, Tony tapped furiously on his tablet. He was busy trying to produce schematics for his new AI, which was becoming increasingly more difficult with his caffeine fuelled shaking. Wow, he needed to lay off the coffee for a while. Tony moved onto the hologram. At least quivering hands wouldn’t matter so much with those. Discarding away some wiring with a flick of the wrist, Tony suddenly felt boiling hot.  
“Must be the coffee,” he murmured, “I need to get this finished. More coffee, always more coffee.”  
Coffee had been fuelling him for 49 and a half hours straight. He always seemed to come up with the best new models when exhausted. He turned at the click of heels on his stone floor. With a sag of his shoulders, he twisted bracing himself for her disappointing glare.  
“Tony, you should stop with the coffee and eat something,” Pepper glanced round, nose crinkled in disgust, “and clean up. You aren’t a child.”  
She stared pointedly at the stained coffee cups balanced precariously on a stack of papers, and the mouldy remains of what she could only hope was spaghetti. Otherwise she would definitely have to call an exterminator to remove whatever was festering down here.  
“Yuh-huh, I’ll… I’ll get right on that. Top of my list,” replied Tony, barely listening as he fiddled with wires and casing on his workbench.  
“Tony, you are looking a little pale…”  
“Yeah, yup, I’ll get right on it.”  
With a roll of her eyes and a reproachful look, Pepper carried up the plate and the scattered array of mugs. Tony watched as she left and sighed. He really should clean more. At least it stops Pepper getting annoyed at him. The world still felt far too warm. Maybe a quick flight would cool him down.

~*~

Soaring through the air had not made him feel any better. In fact his whole body was shivering. Violently. He felt freezing, glacial even. And Tony’s head was feeling like cotton wool, everything felt muzzy. Didn’t matter though, work to do. He landed heavily on the gravel outside, comforted by solid ground beneath his shaking legs.  
“Jarvis, diagnostics.”  
“The reactor core is working well sir, air thrusters have no issues, you should consider oiling around the-“  
“No Jarvis, diagnostics on me,” Tony cut in.  
“Of course sir. You have been shaking since you put on the suit, your temperature is 39.2 c, and you have sneezed seventeen times since stepping outside, all of which suggest that you are ill with-“  
“I am fine Jarvis,” Tony interjected, “just fine. Not ill.”  
Even saying that took more energy than Stark felt he had. He meandered down to his workshop, removed the suit and sunk to his knees.  
“Jarvis, under no circumstances are you to tell anyone else about this. If you do I will eradicate your programming before you can utter another word.”  
Tony’s voice was fierce.  
“But-“  
“No Jarvis. Just please don’t.”  
Tony would not be ill. He refused to be. It only interferes. Being ill once was enough but Stark had been forced to suffer through it three times. He did not care for the feeling at all.

~*~

Age five. He could just about remember it. The horrible feeling of bile rising in his throat. The empty ache of his stomach. The burning acidic after-taste. His mom had hugged him once when he was ill with a stomach bug. That was a long time ago. His father had reprimanded her for mollycoddling him. That at least he was being quiet. That he’d be fine in a couple of days, leave him alone to get over it. That otherwise other people, more important people, would get ill. Age eleven, just after he had been shipped off to boarding school. Headaches, not just his regular dull-throbbing-without-coffee headaches that he experienced now, but full-blown migraines. Light hurt his eyes, noises pounded on his brain, muscles ached from the simplest of movements. The school nurse was long gone, some vacation day or holiday. Tony hadn’t cared. The replacement found his attitude insufferable (justifiably, even Tony had to admit) and let him be. He had been too stubborn to admit how bad he really felt, he didn’t want to make her sick. So she tossed him paracetamol, told him to stop being a pain in her ass and a burden and stated to him that he should just sleep it off. Pointless really, even back then insomnia plagued him. But age twenty-one had been the worst. He had caught stomach flu abroad. He felt like he had vomited up everything he had ever eaten in his life, the taste of iron blood left in his mouth. No water would remove the dryness from his mouth (nor would any alcoholic cocktail, but at least it dulled the pain). He had lost so much weight. He kept his illness hidden from any tabloids, but they noticed his sudden skeletal appearance. Luckily they put it down to the stress of taking over Stark Industries. Don’t be a burden, mustn’t be a burden. Rely on no one.

~*~

“Tony, you don’t look too good.”  
“Oh thanks,” he replied sarcastically, “always good to hear. It’s just the coffee. Need more coffee.”  
Tony poured copious amounts of strong black coffee into a large mug, clasping it to steady his shaking hands, enjoying the feeling of warmth in his seemingly cold body. Natasha reached up to touch his forehead, but Stark quickly batted her hands away, before she, or anyone, could brush against his clammy skin. She gave him a look of suspicion but did not pursue the idea. Steve was staring at him searchingly, Clint glanced him up and down, face lacking its relaxed grin.  
“Tony, are you okay?”  
Steve had moved closer, too close. Tony could feel the heat radiating off of his body (had the soldier serum turned him into a radiator?), making him uncomfortable, warm and left him feverish. Feeling flushed he made a break for his sanctuary.

~*~

“Jarvis, they are noticing. How do I hide it?”  
Tony could hear the panic rising in his voice, despite himself. This shouldn’t panic him, he could deal with it alone, he had dealt with it alone before. Well semi-alone, he needed Jarvis to run interference. He sat down on his workbench, trying to listen to Jarvis’ response. It sounded like he was underwater. It felt like he was drowning. Breathing laboured, he heaved himself into one of his cars.  
“I need to get away, go out. Tell them I am off out.”  
“Sir, I do not recommend this course of action.”  
But Jarvis’ advice fell on deaf ears as Tony slumped over in the back seat.

~*~

A sharp prodding jarred Tony awake. Dummy was jabbing between his ribs, creating a rather unpleasant churning sensation in Tony’s stomach.  
“Bin, Bucket, Anything.”  
For once, Dummy did as ordered with a decent degree of accuracy. A plastic tool box, luckily empty, consequently became filled. Tony shuddered as he retched, tears stinging his eyes.  
“How long was I out for?” he asked weakly.  
“For approximately four hours and thirty-five minutes, sir. Steve attempted to check on you nine times, Banner tried four times, Thor came down twice, Clint attempted twice but on the second attempt had to drag Natasha upstairs to stop her breaking through the walls.”  
“What did you tell them?”  
“As you requested I told them you were out.”  
“And they didn’t believe you?”  
“They asked where you went.”  
“What did you tell them?”  
The silence stretched on far too long.  
“What did you tell them?” Tony questioned sternly.  
“I told them you were in the car.”  
None of the cars had been missing. Damn the glass walls, need to change that. Now he would have to answer all their questions. Insufferable questions.  
“Where are they all?”  
“They got called out, more HYDRA weapons were found. Someone began attacking using them.”  
Tony was immediately on his feet, how he hated missing out on the action. Straight into his suit.  
“Send me the co-ordinates now.”

~*~

He landed with a thud, damaging the pavement beneath him. Already he could feel gunfire ricocheting off of his armour. Repulsors poised and ready to fire, he took a cursory glance to acquire his target. Locked, prepped, and fired. Target subdued. The constant fire of bullets knocked Stark off his feet, losing balance and stumbling forward. He turned and aimed a solid punch to the nearest baddy. The guy doubled over, and was sent flying into a coffee stand, scattering coffee beans to the ground. Without looking, Tony aimed a Repulsor at the guy who was about to attack Captain America.  
“Tony, where have you been?”  
An arrow whizzed past his ear into someone attempting to garrotte Thor. Foolish move really, they could barely reach his neck.  
“Out, didn’t Jarvis tell you?”  
Someone was aiming a gun at Captain America’s back. Darting forward Tony grabbed Steve’s shield and protected their back. The blast ricocheted, vaporising a nearby lamppost.  
“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. Old age slows you down eh?” Tony grinned like a maniac.  
“Oh ha ha,” Steve laughed back sardonically, “duck.”  
Tony ducked as Rodgers frisbeed his shield, knocking a guy clean off his feet.  
“Tony, 7 o clock.”  
Tony spun round to his seven, just as someone fired. Quicker than light (or at least it seemed that way) Black Widow swept his legs from under him, causing the blast to just miss him. Just. Parts of the suit were disintegrating away from his left shoulder.  
“Thanks Widow.”  
“Stop calling me that. ‘Nat’ is fine.”  
He turned to face her, catching her throw a knife into someone who as wrestling against Hawkeye.  
“I had him, I didn’t need your help,” came Clint’s childish yell.  
“Clearly,” she arched an eyebrow, “but Tony, he said you were in the car. None were missing. What were you doing down there?”  
“Jarvis must have been mistaken. I was out, I went for a fly about.”  
“Jarvis is never mistaken.”  
“Learning software, he has learnt to be wrong from Clint.”  
An echoed yell of protest came from a rooftop above them, as another arrow struck into someone approaching Tony.  
“That could easily be you next time Stark.”  
Within minutes the Hydra were all gone, either incapacitated or fleeing with their metaphorical tails between their legs. Once the adrenaline faded Tony was struggling to breathe. Hands on his knees, stooped over, trying to suck in as much oxygen as possible. A hand on his shoulder caused him to jump out of his skin. Steve.  
“Tony, you need to go to a hospital.”  
“I’m fine.”  
Shrugging off the shoulder Tony flew off aiming for home, leaving the others behind, tiny ants on the pavement.

~*~

“Sir, your temperature is dangerously high. If you do not consult a medical professional I will be forced to tell the others of your condition.”  
That earned Jarvis a frown and a threat.  
“I can shut you down, I hope you realise.”  
“It would be worth it sir, if it meant your health improved.”  
This stunned Tony into silence. Something cared. In his sleep deprived state had he altered the programming? No, no, learning AI. But who was he learning from?  
“I am not ill.”  
The world was moving around him. He needed to make it down to his workshop. He couldn’t pass out here. Not on the sofa, not in the living room. Too public, he would just take up space, be in the way. He could hear Jarvis talking but couldn’t make out the words. He was sinking. Down into darkness. Isolated. He felt so cold. He laughed with bitterness at how reminiscent of his childhood this felt. Sensations were slipping away from him, slipping fast.

~*~

Pepper hovered over him. His stomach dropped at being found.  
“Tony, Tony wake up.”  
Her voice sounded panicked, but Tony slipped away again before she could say anymore.  
“Tony.”  
A sharp slap to the face followed. Pepper was still over him, but was morphing into someone new. Curly red hair. Natasha.  
“Get off, stupid spider,” Tony murmured.  
He reached out to shake her hand from his shoulder, but it went straight through. The hand was there but not there?  
“Jarvis, cut the holograms.”  
He felt surrounded by the blue glow of his comrades. Natasha morphed into Clint, grinning down cheekily at him. Black surrounded his field of vision, but Clint remained in the picture.  
“I told you cut the holograms. NOW JARVIS. This really isn’t funny.”  
Slowly changing. Bruce. Tony was suffocating in panic now. Another change. The tall towering figure of Thor. The holograms’ mouths were moving but no sound seemed to reach Tony’s ears. It was Thor, people could hear him three blocks away. They had had the noise complaints. Another shift. Steve. Tony was sinking lower and lower into the black, cold, darkness. A cool hand reached down to him, placing itself on his forehead. A disjointed voice called to him, cutting through the silence that enveloped him.  
“Tony. Tony, look at me.”  
Tony’s brown eyes searched for the piecing blue ones. Hunting in the blackness surrounding him, he found those eyes drawing him up from the depths.  
“We need to get him to a hospital. He has a temperature and I think he is hallucinating.”  
“No can’t be ill. Can’t get other people ill. Not more important people. No hospital. I refuse.”  
The protests fell on deaf ears as suddenly Stark’s body was lurched upwards, two sturdy arms, real, physical arms around his shoulders supported him when his legs could not.  
“Christ, Steve. He has lost so much weight. I can feel his ribs. And look at his face, it’s so pale, so gaunt. He’s like a walking skeleton.”  
“Tony. Tony.”  
Someone was clicking in front of his face, female voice. Through bleary eyes, Tony could make out a dark blue dress and golden hair.  
“When did you last eat?” the voice interrogated.  
“I… I don’t know.”  
“That’s never good.”  
“I’m not hungry.”  
“We haven’t seen him eat since three weeks ago, Monday.”  
“Why the hell didn’t you make him eat!”  
Awkward shuffling ensued, a couple of guilty coughs followed.  
“Steve-“ started Tony feebly before promptly vomiting up stomach acid across the floor.

~*~

“He originally had the flu, but because it was left untreated it has developed into pneumonia as well. We have him set up on an IV drip, and have given him antibiotics. But you should probably go home, you have all been here for 34 hours straight. Go get some sleep, I will call if there are any changes.”  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“I’m not leaving,” panicked but level.  
“Me neither,” calm and collected.  
“Me neither,” deep and booming.  
“Us neither,” two voices in unison, sharp and higher pitched, the other steady but sounding thick and muffled.  
“In conclusion, we are all staying right here,” female, sounding tired.  
“His temperature is still high. He is likely to remain unconscious for a while longer.”  
Tony twitched his fingers. His eyelids felt so heavy. His head, throbbing like it was trying to escape from his skull. A beeping could be heard, gradually quickening. He felt someone turn next to him, the fabric of a coat brushing his arm. Then a chuckle.  
“Or not. This one doesn’t seem to like rest.”  
Tony’s eyes slowly opened, blinded by the bright world around him, sterile and white. Someone’s hand was clasped in his. He blinked, getting accustomed to the assault on his senses. Strong cleaning chemicals, white bright bed sheets, steady beep, feeling very cold. He released the hand and pulled the sheets up around him, shaking with cold. Someone was tugging them away from him, trying to counter his fever.  
“Steve?”  
A laugh, deep and musical.  
“At least you don’t think we are holograms now.”  
Tony smiled faintly. But Pepper stepped up to the bed, raised her hand and Tony felt a sharp sting as well as the heat of pain bloomed on his cheek.  
“Why didn’t you tell us you were ill? Why did you… why did you stay silent? You could have died.”  
She looked ready to cry or scream. Maybe both.  
“It wasn’t important. I… I didn’t want to burden you.”  
Tony’s voice was cold and sharp, like glass cutting skin. Suddenly it dawned on him. He was in hospital. How had it taken him so long to realise? He was surrounded by wires and machines and people who he would only ever burden. The next voice that spoke sounded broken, hurt beyond Tony’s comprehension.  
“You… do you really consider yourself a burden to us?”  
Tony couldn’t think of anything to say, not to Steve. Just blankness. Like every file had been deleted from his hard drive. All he could do was nod. Everyone stared at him. He pulled a hopefully defiant face.  
“I’m not ill, I don’t need these.”  
He began ripping the IV painfully from his arm, pulling off the wires and pushing himself out of bed. Hands immediately began grappling at him, pushing him back down.  
“Do you need to be strapped down?” Natasha threatened.  
“You are ill. Please rely on us. Just for a couple of days. Just until you are well. You won’t be a burden. Let us look after you,” Clint said rationally.  
Tony shook his head, he shouldn’t rely on people. The years had taught him that. Self-reliant. Independent. He had been since childhood. Natasha nodded.  
“Okay, strap his arms down.”

~*~

“It’s been an hour Tony. We spoke to the doctor and he says if you behave we can get you home in a few hours. The pneumonia was less serious than expected. You need rest, antibiotics, fluids, and to stay away from the germ riddled hole you call a workshop.”  
Tony was tugging at the leather cuffs that held his wrists down to the bed. He was kicking and struggling, desperate to pull himself free.  
“Are these really necessary?”  
He was ignored. It was just Steve and Tony left in the little private hospital room. Natasha and Clint had been called by Coulson, Banner had wandered off. Thor was booming about something a few floors below. Pepper had also gone. Just Tony and Steve.  
“I tidied up the workshop.”  
“Pepper tidied up,” corrected Steve.  
Tony pouted like a petulant child.  
“Steve can I go now? Just undo these. You can do that. Give me my freedom. Liberate me. I won’t burden you. I’ll take my pills, I’ll sleep. I’ll even lay off my coffee. Just get me out of here. I am going stir crazy.”  
Tony flashed his winning smile, used to avoid jail sentences and getting him out of Senate committee meetings. But Steve did not relent, and Tony sulked for the rest of his hospital stay.

~*~

Tony was lying in his bed, pills on his side table with a glass of iced water, in the comfort of his room. He still felt like ice and fire all at once. A gentle tap on his bedroom door announced the return of Steve. Steve had stuck to him like glue, forcing three meals a day at him. This was incredibly out of routine for Tony, who barely got three meals a week. However he was just grateful that his stomach was allowing him to keep all his food down. This time Steve was laden with a jug of iced water and a bowl of something creamy and red-orange in colour. Soup?  
“Did you make this?”  
Tony waved his hand towards the tray, a drifting aroma causing his stomach to rumble and groan. Steve shifted a little, trying to balance the water jug on his arm as he set the tray on Tony’s lap. He nodded.  
“I told you I didn’t want to be a burden,” Tony stated resolutely.  
“It was no problem.”  
“You don’t even get how to use my bloody kitchen.”  
“I know how to use the hob and blender.”  
Tony looked at him doubtfully, eyebrows raised to his hairline.  
“Yes even with your ‘upgrades’.”  
Steve began looking pointedly at the pills. Tony rolled his eyes, dry swallowed the pills with a grimace and then began devouring his soup. It tasted delicious, a lovely mix between tart tomatoes and rich cream. Tony smiled a wide grin. Steve pushed forward the glass of water, which Tony snatched at, and drank it in three long gulps. The glass was instantly refilled. Once the soup bowl was nearly licked clean, Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. He hated being so weak. He hated having to rely on others. He hated being mollycoddled. It repulsed him. So why was he enjoying the hand stroking through his hair as he drifted off.

~*~

He was feeling a little better, still hot and cold but no longer lava and glacial, so Tony decided to stretch his legs. They hadn’t seen much use in the past week, having been forced into bed rest. Heavy and leaden, he took a few cautious steps, aiming for the kitchen, aiming for a coffee. Pouring himself a cup, he pondered the silence of his house. Eerily silent. Then a clatter of metal on stone. Tony swore using all the expletives he knew. They were in his workshop. Thundering down the stairs, puffing himself up to yell, to scream at them for getting near his toys. Although all the wind was gone from his sails as he approached the bottom step. They had tidied up, everything was neat, organised. No plates, mugs in sight. Nuts and Bolts, organised, categorised. Springs swept away. Wires tidied by length and material. Dummy was ‘helping’ by dropping a wrench on Clint’s foot, if the way he was hopping about was anything to go by. Stunned silence. He could not move a muscle. Why would they do that? He was being a burden again.  
“GET OUT.”  
His voice thundered over the soft classical music that Banner must have put on.  
“NOW. What are you doing in my workshop! Get out. I will not be your burden.”  
His brain seemed to have a virus, it was not acting the way he wanted. He meant to thank them. He meant to apologise for making them look after him. Why did they keep trying to help? Tony screamed at his brain, begging it to reboot, delete that data. He wanted to thank them, not yell. But they all stood there. The looks ranged from startled surprise that he was out of bed (Clint), to anger at being yelled at (Natasha), to stunned (Banner), to something he couldn’t place (Steve). Thor hadn’t even glanced up. He was too busy examining Dummy, prodding at the joints. Steve took a step forwards, hands outstretched as though trying to calm a wild animal.  
“Tony, you aren’t a burden. Why do you keep saying that?”  
Tony opened his mouth only to close it, bearing a striking resemblance to a goldfish. Steve’s voice got stricter, more demanding.  
“Why do you think you are a burden? Tell us.”  
Tony stuttered, the wind not just gone from his sails but a full gale capsizing him.  
“I-I-I… I’m going back to bed.”  
He turned sharply on his heel but before ascending the stairs he glanced back. Come on. His brain could do this. He gestured vaguely to the workshop.  
“Urm… thanks. For this. I… yeah.”

~*~

His brain had shut down. The virus was taking over. It would not restart. Tech support, tech support, he needed tech support. Pulling open a draw in his side table, digging under old patent papers and leftover parts, cogs, wires, the usual junk, he found it. A bottle of scotch. He undid the top with his teeth, drinking copious amounts. His mind was blank, peaceful. He felt so free. Floaty. Soon half the bottle was gone. He giggled with childlike innocence and glee. When was the last time he laughed? He felt so blissful and numb. He wanted to fly. Off and away. He could fly. He had found a way.  
“Jarvis, get me my suit.”  
“Sir-“  
“Jarvis, my suit.”  
The words came out slurred but the message got across. His wardrobe door opened, revealing his suitcase suit. He put it on, shattered the window with his Repulsor, and took a few unsteady steps before taking flight. He had no clue where he was going, all he knew was that he wanted to get as far away as he could from the pity and the rage and the people who cared about him… Oh god why was he leaving? Was it really such a foreign concept that people actually cared? He landed atop of the Statue of Liberty, sitting on the peak of her torch. He was still clutching his bottle, cradling it in his arms. He began taking small sips, trying to calm his nerves.  
“Sir, your body temperature is still elevated. You are not completely healthy yet. I recommend returning home.”  
“Jarvis… I can’t. I just… it is too…home-y.”  
“I have told Steve where you are.”  
“YOU DID WHAT!”  
“You didn’t tell me not to. And he asked me.”  
“Don’t think you can win this through logic.”  
“But that is how you designed me Sir.”  
Damn. Beaten by his own creation. He drank more of the scotch, before swan diving off the statue. Thrusters activated, he gracefully swooped down, skimming the ocean waters.  
“Where is he Jarvis?”  
“At the water’s edge sir. He is trying to get a boat.”  
Tony landed a small distance behind him, with more grace and less showboating than he ever thought he could be capable of. He staggered, stumbled and weaved his way towards Steve. The alcohol had more effect than he thought. The loud thud of his armour gave him away. Steve caught his arms to steady him. It was always Steve.  
“Why do you think you are a burden?”  
Right to it then? Tony sunk to the ground, too tired and ill and drunk to be able to maintain his mask, to keep his walls up.  
“Because I was always treated as one. Especially when I was ill. I couldn’t risk getting other people sick heaven forbid it. I was left to fend for myself, okay? I was told to get over it. I’d be fine in a few days. I don’t need other people, to be fine. My father told me I only get in the way, delay his work. So I don’t want to be a burden.”  
All of this was said staring at the floor, tone dripping with bitterness, resentment, defeat. He began removing his suit, only vaguely aware that it was 2am and he was in pyjamas.  
“I’m just a burden.”  
Damn the alcohol, or sleep deprivation, or whatever, why did he feel like crying? He could feel the tears hot behind his eyes, trying desperately to blink them away.  
“Tony, please let’s get you home.”  
He let himself be pulled up and steered through the streets of New York, still holding onto the nearly empty scotch bottle and his red and gold suitcase.  
“Why did you come after me?”  
Steve shrugged, in a ‘well what did you think I would do’ kind of way.  
“You’re ill. You’re hurting. You’re family. I’m not going to leave you now. We’re a family.”  
“I don’t do family.”  
Tony then drank the last of the scotch and was conscious no more.

~*~

A bed. Lovely and warm. Soft downy pillows. Arms wrapped around him. Wait. That’s not right. He couldn’t remember picking anyone up. Although he was blackout drunk. The arms were most definitely not female. The hands that had entwined with his were too masculine. He absolutely positively had not picked anyone up last night. Nope, no way. So why was someone next to him, pressing a very muscly chest into his back? God did the warmth feel pleasurable. He unravelled himself from the body next to him, and pushed himself into sitting position. He was in his own house, the view out of the window proved that, though not his own room. The figure next to him shifted, pulling the sheets over his face. Damn, couldn’t figure out who without seeing the face and risk waking them up. This would be awkward enough to explain as it is. Looking around for a clue, anything to give away who he had… urm… visited in the night. There was nothing. The room was oddly empty. Well that was clue enough. Clint kept his bow and a quiver of arrows next to the bed all the time. Natasha kept throwing knives at the door when she was bored, no marks on the door. Banner often had some experiment running. No test tubes, petri dishes, chemicals. So that left Thor and Steve. The body was too small to be Thor. Oh god. It was Steve. Why was it always Steve? With a groan and unusual care he slid soundlessly from the bed. The movement did not do anything for the hangover coming thick and fast. Tony dropped to his knees clutching his head and stomach, each doing flips in turn. It felt nauseating. He must have made some silent noise or disturbed the air pressure or blinked too loudly because those super serum enhanced senses became alert to his presence and made sure he was being held tight through the migraine that overcame him. Once the pain lessened, Tony looked up and timidly hugged back Steve. He felt so small and infantile, burying his face into Steve’s chest. And the agony returned as quickly as it left. Tony was shaking, curling up to be as small as possible, his legs drawn up, chin pressed into his chest. His shoulders shook, dry sobs overcoming him as his body ached. Strong, capable arms lifted him and carried him back to the bed. Blinds were drawn, covers wrapped around him. Steve turned to leave, but something caught him. A tight grip around his wrist held him back.  
“Don’t go… please…”  
Steve returned to Tony’s side, perching on the edge of the bed. Steve trailed his hand through Tony’s hair, Tony’s eyes shut tight against the remaining light. They became enveloped in a peaceful and amiable silence.  
“Steve…Thanks. What… What happened last night?”  
Steve shifted awkwardly, tapping his foot a little.  
“Well, after you stormed upstairs you… well you smashed your bedroom window. I ran up after you and saw you fly off. I have no idea if this was before or after you started drinking, but I asked Jarvis to track you and tell me when you had landed. It was about 1am when you eventually landed at the Statue of Liberty. I followed you out there, and you eventually came down. You drank an entire bottle of scotch by the end of the night. You…”  
Steve seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable as he spoke, clenching and unclenching his hands.  
“You told me why you consider yourself a burden. You aren’t, Tony. You are a friend, you are family. And well…”  
Steve blushed a bright pink hue, Tony could see it reach his ears and neck.  
“You…”  
Steve was shaking, shoulders heaving, not meeting Tony’s eyes, back turned.  
“You took off your suit in the middle of the street. Can I please buy you pyjamas? You seemed convinced that boxer shorts were enough. They weren’t.”  
He burst out laughing, loud and echoing around the room. Once he regained himself he continued.  
“You had drank far too much, we weren’t even halfway home before you blacked out. I had to carry you the rest of the way. The amount you drank, you are lucky you aren’t dead or in hospital.”  
Tony flinched at the sudden anger in his voice, the unexpected rage that lit his eyes.  
“What were you thinking! You are still ill, you complete and utter ass, you entirely senseless man.”  
“It’s only me. I-I think I am over the worst of it,” stammered Tony.  
“Thank your lucky stars. But well… I couldn’t put you in your own room. You’d freeze with that smashed window. So I stuck you in here. I sat on the bed next to you, to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit. And well you were shivering. So I put my arms around you. Tried to give you some of my body heat, avoid you getting hypothermia, daft idiot. And I guess I must have fallen asleep.”  
Steve’s voice sounded very defensive as he neared the end of his explanation, Stark couldn’t fathom why.  
“Thank you Steve. Really. It was really…”  
What word should he use? Nice… Enjoyable… Perfect… Eventually he settled on…  
“Warm.”  
Phew. Safe from sounding creepy.  
“It was wonderful to hug you.”  
Crap. Stupid computer virus brain. Tony turned on his side, pulling the covers over his head, suffocating himself with a pillow. The weight shifted off of the edge of the bed. Great. Tony had scared him away. Burden, burden, burden to him, to them all. A warmth was pressed against him as the mattress sunk down behind him. Arms ensnared him. That toned chest pushed against him. How could he help but hum in delight? Quickly, quietly, they drifted off into a steady sleep.

~*~

Tony snuck off early the next morning. It was too weird sleeping in the same bed as him. Tony made a few calls and the window in his room was repaired within hours. After all, he was a Stark. The illness had passed and the hangover had gone. So he hid himself from Steve, he should not get used to being looked after. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. Getting close to him was a mistake, a huge, giant, dumb mistake. One he prayed he could repeat.

~*~


End file.
